Ain't No Exit
by Candied Corpses
Summary: A one-shot between the suave Soul and masterful Maka! Pretty much my take on a tired and true scenario. Majorly implied SXM, so do enjoy if you're into that shiz.


**Disclaimer: Despite my greatest wishes, I do not own Soul Eater or any of it's characters. I'm simply living out my fantasies through them. 8C Excuse me while I go form a river of sacred tears. ;A;  
**

He wasn't amazing, he wasn't astounding; he was nowhere in the same _league_ as him, despite what all those chattering rich monkeys said otherwise. Anyone with a good ear, someone who wasn't blinded by simple arrogance and the need to make pointless small talk could see that. It's not like he wasn't used to it; being stuck in that shadow, looming and tall, an umbra umbrella that never ceased to leave, though the rain had long subsided. Escape was impossible and futile and he never bothered even thinking about trying to leave. It would not happen and could not happen. Couldn't they see that? _Why couldn't they fucking see that?_ His fingertips traced along the piano, slender digits ghosting on the clean white keys, seeming to have a song that strove to flow through them, but were much too hesitant to let it free. Crimson red eyes stared down, deep pools with a gaze intent and unwavering, wondering what it was that made him still sit here; this confusion was a haze in his head, obscuring all other thoughts, refusing to leave until it was given a definitive answer, a reason, a goal.

Hah, a goal. The very word was so fucking foreign coming from his mouth; he hadn't once considered what he strived to accomplish in this life. This was the world he had been in for so long and it seemed as if he was content. He was, right? He had to be. There could be no other explanation for why he had remained so long. To simply follow after his brother, running with his chest heaving, wondering when he'd be able to catch up even just for a second. To know what it was like to be mentioned in a sentence that didn't compare him to his older sibling. The boy thought this was what made him different from his brother; that having this goal is what distinguished him from his brother, what finally separated them and made him his own single-celled being. He told himself this everyday. He had to tell himself. Every single day. If he failed to for just one day, he'd fall apart. _He would fall apart, fucking all apart._

But, even this was total bullshit. Because in its nature, his goal still revolved around his brother, a planet stuck in the never-ending gravitational pull of it's much bigger and grander counterpart. It dawned on him as his hands began to shake, his whole body trembling as the realization slowly but surely draped over him. There was no exit. No way out. He was stuck here, behind his brother, chasing after his coattails. _There was no goddamn exit._ His hands balled into fists, tight and clammy, reinforced by the rage of realization. The pianist brought them up and slammed them down on the keys, blaring out a mangled note of poorly suppressed anger and hopelessness, a somber dirge all in its own.

Hunched over and heaving, he could barely hear the soft footsteps behind, a small "clack clack" noise he instantly recognized as that of heels and belonging to rather dainty feet. In a somewhat cautious manner as if marginally afraid of what he'd find behind him, his head revolved around to meet _the brightest green eyes he had ever seen._ They practically crackled with fluorescent intelligence and an infinite spark of determination; they had taken him aback and for once, he didn't have some wry, dry, off-beat smart remark. For what seemed to stretch on for hours, time becoming elastic and malleable, they simply stared at each other, emerald and rubies locking.

"You're Soul, right? Soul Eater Evans? My dad likes your brother's music," She broke the silence with such elegant ease that Soul still hadn't noticed his jaw was hanging open, agape like some type of fool, a deer caught in headlights. Shaking his head and regaining his composure, he smirked bitterly, lips barely opening to form a response. "Heh, my brother? Who _doesn't _like his music? But, yeah my name's Soul. What do you want?" Soul asked of her, red eyes leaking cynicism and skepticism, curious as to her real agenda. He'd be damned if she was going to come here and convince him to get an autograph from his brother or try to learn more about his older sibling, whom people thought was just a walking masterpiece biography. Surprisingly, the girl smiled again and laughed quietly, almost as if she could see the insecurity pooling beneath his dry-ice calm facade.

" Actually, I wanted to hear you play. I've heard a few of yours. I mean, your brother is amazing, but….you got a real unique style. Jazz-inspired, right? It's really cool." Cool. It was cool. Cool. _It was cool._ Something about that word struck him across the face like a firm slap, a violent jolt from his earlier fugue of hopelessness. _Cool._ The world almost made him light-headed. Not because of the word itself, those bewitching letters forming a phrase that seemed like the answer to all of life's questions, but because it seemed to sum up what he really wanted to be. He wanted to be appreciated, not compared to someone else, to be acknowledged _as_ something else. He wanted to be cool. It was truly and honestly so simple, so correct, _so utterly fucking right._

Green Eyes looked at him in confusion and playful curiosity, trying to look through him and see what the storm of swirling thoughts in his head, bouncing against the walls and tearing down furniture like chattering little monkeys." Also heard you were a Weapon. Honestly, that's really why I'm here. You know, for Shibusen? I know it's pretty damn stupid to come all the way here for a request like that but-". "Sure." The girl's ramblings were cut off by Soul, surprising them both. He hadn't even registered the word coming out of his mouth until it had left. But, now that it had left home and hung in the air, he realized that it wasn't such a bad offer after all. Some deep part of him told him he wasn't really leaving for a new goal and, in his own way, simply running from his brother's legacy, but he didn't care. It was a step. Just one, but it was more than he had ever done.

"Let's do it. You need a Weapon and I need a Meister. Don't see why I should turn this down." Soul said, measured and cool words, like the crystal clear voice of an icy sociopath. Maka realized in a fleeting way that he was indeed a stylish boy; he had some permanent air of flash and panache about him, a confident swagger in his step that was so in tune with the jazzy theme of his music. That pressed suit, black and red with faint gray pinstripes, looked so fitting on him. But more importantly, it was those strange facial features about him that gave him such a mysterious, ghostly and even demonic glamor. Crimson red eyes, snow-white hair and jagged teeth; he seemed like a figure rudely torn from a Tim Burton film.

"Heh, aren't we so suave all of a sudden. Good to see you perking up though. That whole hunched over and depressed look earlier? Not really your style, Soul Eater Evans." She joked with a witty grin, clean white teeth revealed for just a second; she had such a quick tongue despite that proper, normal and almost naive look about her. It intrigued Soul, sparked a long-dead curiosity that further drew out his more self-confident mannerisms, his hands tucking themselves neatly into his pockets. "Oh, how rude of me! My name's Maka Albarn. Nice to make your acquaintance, partner." Soul cocked his head at her for a small moment, digesting her name as if he was neatly recording in his brain, trying to etch it between the cerebral wrinkles. It was a simple yet exotic, practical yet exciting. He _liked _it.

"Maka, huh? Maka Albarn. Hah….I like it. It's a damn cool name." And it was. Because it was the name of something more than just this enchanting girl standing before him; it was the name of his door, his exit, the thing he had been searching for all his life. Standing right there in all it's green-eyed glory. He could feel excitement roaring across the hairs of his arm like a violent wind, a full-throated and wild bellow that awakened something deep within. He reached a hand out to take her slim and slender fingers, palms eerily soft as silk and held it firmly. There. There was the knob. Now….it was time to open the door. Here was his Exit.

**Author's Ramblings! : soooo, we've all seen this scenario with Soul and Maka. XD I simply decided to put my own little angsty and schizophrenic spin on it. I thought it'd be interesting to explore the whole thing from Soul's mind since I'm absurdly skilled at exposition and monologues and all that fancy shit. 8'D This is my first fanfic, so if it's vaguely fail...well, that's because it's vaguely fail. 8I**

**Reviews are mucho welcome, ya'll! Be gentle on me though! D8 *Fanfic virgin*  
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